Three wooden staves, seven feet high, were fastened together in the form of a triangle. The structure looked not unlike that made by gypsies to boil their kettles. To this structure Kirkland was bound. His feet were fastened with thongs to the base of the triangle; his wrists, bound above his head, at the apex.
His body was then extended to its fullest length, and his white back shone in the sunlight. During his tying up he had said nothingβonly when Troke pulled off his shirt he shivered.
In all his experience he had never been asked to flog before. He had been flogged often enough. The white back was instantly striped with six crimson bars. Kirkland stifled a cry.
It seemed to him that he had been cut in half. What do you mean by flogging a man that fashion? This time the blow was more effective, and the blood beaded on the skin. The boy did not cry; but Macklewain saw his hands clutch the staves tightly, and the muscles of his naked arms quiver.
The third blow sounded as though it had been struck upon a piece of raw beef, and the crimson turned purple. The flogging proceeded in silence for ten strikes, and then Kirkland gave a screech like a wounded horse. Captain Burgess! Oh, my God! Oh, Doctor! Dawes, turning away from his bloody handiwork, drew the cats through his fingers twice. They were beginning to get clogged a little. Roused by the morning sun streaming in upon him, Mr.
